chapter 49
Elena's POV:
The photographs scattered across the coffee table made my heart heavy. Each carefully posed smile represented a potential future for Adrian.
I didn't love him, not in the way he'd once hoped, but as someone who'd shared four years of friendship with him, I couldn't help but wish for his happiness. He deserved someone who would choose him first, not settle for him as a consolation prize in the marriage market of the elite.
Margaret's expectant gaze pressed against my conscience.
I took a deep breath, knowing what I was about to say might not be well-received, but the words needed to be spoken.
"She's lovely," I said carefully, then added, "but I think what matters most is whether Adrian likes her."
Margaret's eyes lit up with approval, nodding emphatically. "Exactly! That's precisely what I've been thinking."
She set down the photograph with a satisfied air.
"Besides, Adrian has been doing wonderfully on his own lately. Sebastian transferred several projects to him, and he's managed to build his company into something quite impressive. I'm rather proud of how he's turned out. There's really no need for him to rush into marriage when he's just finding his footing."
I noticed Catherine's posture stiffen at Margaret's words. When Margaret showed no further interest in pursuing the matchmaking discussion, Catherine shot me a sharp glare, her eyes blazing with barely contained frustration.
I blinked, genuinely confused by the venom in her gaze. What had I done except suggest that Adrian's happiness should come first? Wasn't that what any mother should care about—her son's genuine happiness?
Catherine forced a tight smile, her fingers gripping the photographs a bit too firmly. "Well then, perhaps I should discuss this with Adrian directly. After all, as you both pointed out, his opinion is what matters most."
She rose with deliberate grace, gathering the portraits with efficient movements.
I watched her retreating figure, my mind churning with questions. Why was she suddenly so desperate to see Adrian married?
The moment the door closed behind Catherine, Margaret reached for my hand, her touch warm and conspiratorial. Her gaze dropped meaningfully to my still-flat stomach.
"My dear," she said softly, "you must realize how many eyes are on your belly right now. You need to be careful."
I met Margaret's knowing gaze, trying desperately to connect the dots between my pregnancy and Catherine's matchmaking urgency. But the connection eluded me completely.
"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head in confusion. "What does my baby have to do with any of this?"
Margaret looked at me with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, as if I were a particularly naive child.
"Oh, my dear girl. You're carrying Sebastian's child. Catherine is desperate for Adrian to marry and produce heirs quickly so he'll have something to compete with. In a family this large and wealthy, everyone wants their share of the pie."
Understanding dawned like a cold splash of water. Of course. It wasn't about Adrian's happiness at all—it was about succession, inheritance, power.
I couldn't help but sigh deeply. Elite families really were something else entirely. All these twisted schemes and calculations, layers upon layers of hidden agendas... My simple brain definitely wasn't equipped to navigate such treacherous waters.
---
After breakfast, I retreated to my makeshift workshop in the conservatory, grateful for the familiar comfort of lavender stems and essential oils.
The family power struggles of the morning had left me feeling complicated and heavy-hearted. Here, among the growing things and careful creations, I could pretend the world made sense again.
My phone buzzed with an incoming message, and Isabella's name flashed across the screen. Surprise coursed through me. After our last encounter, I'd assumed she'd want nothing more to do with me.
Having a farewell party tonight at the Meridian. I'm leaving the country—need to clear my head and figure out who I am without... well, you know. Would mean a lot if you came.
I stared at the message, reading it three times to make sure I understood correctly. Isabella Morrison, who'd spent years positioning herself as Sebastian's future wife, was inviting me—the woman who'd inadvertently destroyed those plans—to her farewell party.
When I mentioned it to Sebastian over lunch, his expression darkened predictably.
"A farewell party," he repeated, his tone flat.
"She's leaving to study abroad. Some kind of self-improvement journey." I kept my voice carefully neutral.
"And she specifically invited you."
"Yes."
He studied me for a long moment, his brow furrowing with genuine puzzlement. "Since when did you two become such close friends?"
I met his gaze steadily, allowing a hint of challenge to creep into my voice.
"Am I not allowed to have friends? Girls' emotions come and go quickly—sometimes we hate each other, sometimes we bond. It's not that complicated."
Sebastian's jaw tightened, but after a moment, he sighed in resignation. "Fine. I have a board meeting that might run late anyway. Marcus will drive you there."
"That's fine," I said mildly, turning back to my bench. Whether he showed up or not made absolutely no difference to me.
---
The afternoon passed quickly, and soon Marcus was pulling up to Meridian Hotel's private event space. The circular drive was already lined with luxury cars, and I could hear music drifting from the open terrace doors.
I was smoothing down my dress as I walked through the entrance, distracted by a stubborn crease, when I collided hard with someone.
The unmistakable splash of red wine spread across a pristine white shirt like blood.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I gasped, fumbling in my clutch for tissues that weren't there.
The wine was already setting into the expensive fabric, and my hands fluttered uselessly as I tried to figure out how to help without making it worse. "I wasn't watching where I was going—please, let me pay for the cleaning, or a replacement—"
The man looked down at his ruined shirt, then up at my face. For a moment, he simply stared, his irritation visibly melting away as his eyes traced my features with unmistakable appreciation.
"It's perfectly fine," he said smoothly, his accent polished and distinctly upper-class. "These things happen. I always keep a spare shirt in my car for emergencies."
He smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "Though I must say, if getting doused in wine leads to meeting someone like you, I should arrange for it more often."